


Same Old Song And Dance

by TsarinaTorment



Series: Fluffember [5]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Family, Fluff, Fluffember 2020, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Sick Fic, fluffember, sick Scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27411664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: Dealing with a sick Scott was a challenge that Virgil had honed into an art.
Relationships: Virgil Tracy & Scott Tracy
Series: Fluffember [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996258
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Same Old Song And Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Next offering for #fluffember - day 5 “drink”, and a stubborn thing that refused to be named. Fairly sure it took me longer to name this than write it. Also wasn’t supposed to be a Virgil fic but he insisted and he speaks to me so rarely I was hardly in a position to refuse.

Virgil loved his brother. He really did. But at times like this, loving him did nothing to negate the overwhelming desire to throttle him.

“Sco-”

“’m _fine_ , Virg’,” his older brother snapped, not even looking up at him from where he was sat at Dad’s desk, holding his head in his hands and glaring _through_ – not even _at_ – whatever the holoprojector was displaying. Right now, Virgil didn’t really care _what_ it was; it could be Alan’s school report, something new and ‘urgent’ from Tracy Industries, or the GDF bothering them about that rescue last week. Hell, it could even be the manuscript for John’s new book, for all he cared right then.

“Don’t even try it, Scott,” he warned, striding across the room and hitting the off switch for the projector, to a sharp snap of his name. His brother’s complaints were ignored as he kept one hand covering the switch while the other reached for Scott’s forehead.

It was batted away petulantly, an action more commonly attributed to Virgil’s _younger_ brothers than his oldest, but in doing so Scott had to let go of his head with one hand, thereby revealing bloodshot eyes and a puffy nose.

“ _Scott_.” Virgil captured the hand that had batted at him instead, feeling the way it trembled in his grip with some concern. “Scott, go to bed.”

“I’m _fine_ , Virgil!” his brother protested, trying and failing to yank his hand back. “Let go.” Virgil tightened his grip.

“You’re sick, Scott. Go to bed, take your meds, and sleep it off. We didn’t ground you so you could keep working on reports.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” he said, not quite managing to keep the snap of frustration out of his voice. His stupid, thick-headed, _stubborn_ big brother needed to take a break before he passed out.

Again.

“Either you go willingly, or we’re doing this the hard way,” he threatened. Scott glowered at him balefully, clearly unimpressed with the threat. Virgil met the look calmly, knowing that Scott knew he’d lost but was throwing one last hurrah before he conceded.

It didn’t work when he was healthy, unfortunately, but a sick Scott was a weakened Scott with dulled reflexes. Experience had shown, more than once, that it was perfectly possible for Virgil to throw him into a fireman’s carry and force him to bed when he was ill. Scott despised it, his pride thoroughly rankled by the action, which made the mention of it the ideal way to get him to co-operate.

Sure enough, Scott’s forehead hit the desk with a soft thud and a groan before the chair got pushed away from the desk. Virgil followed, ready with a helping hand if Scott faltered, but there was enough fight still in his brother that his assistance out of the chair wasn’t needed.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Scott tried, glaring at him. Virgil didn’t back down, raising an eyebrow instead.

“C’mon, tough guy,” he said. “Stop stalling and get your ass to bed.”

“ _Virgil_.” But Scott started moving, one foot in front of the other with just enough hesitation that Virgil knew he was probably a touch light-headed. He let Scott reach the stairs under his own steam – even he could only push an ill Scott so far before he started pushing _back_ – but after Scott stumbled on the first step, misjudging the height and stubbing his toe, he reached out to grasp his elbow. Just enough support to get him up the stairs without any mishaps, but still giving the illusion that Scott was in control.

Dealing with a sick Scott was very much a tightrope walk at times.

Scott didn’t shrug away the help, which told Virgil exactly how bad he was actually feeling, now he was being forced to confront it, and they made it to his room without incident.

“Pyjamas and _bed_ ,” Virgil ordered, only releasing his grip once they were inside Scott’s room, and promptly locating his phone and tablet. Scott protested loudly as he pocketed them, but that was a mistake he’d made before. Leave Scott with _any_ way to work, and he’d take it. “I’ll be back in five, and if you’re not changed and in bed by then, I’ll be doing it for you.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, not wanting to give Scott the chance to argue his way out of it – and he _would_ , if the opportunity was there. Leaving his brother standing in the middle of his bedroom, he slipped out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him.

Once upon a time, Scott would take that as an invitation to attempt to escape. That was before Virgil discovered how easy it was to overpower him when he was sick and carry him back to his room. Since that discovery, the escape attempts had lessened drastically.

When he returned the promised five minutes later it was to see that, however unhappily, Scott had done as instructed and was bundled up under the covers in his bed, looking frustrated but defeated.

“You know you’ll get better faster if you rest now,” Virgil reminded him. Scott rolled his eyes disparagingly, only for them to light up as he caught sight of the mug Virgil was cradling. Virgil smiled and set it on the bedside table before guiding his brother to sit up against the pillows. Much to Scott’s obvious frustration, his fingers were still trembling, so Virgil hauled himself up onto the bed next to him.

The mug was warm to the touch, and Scott didn’t fight as Virgil helped him wrap his hands around it, cupping his own hands around his brother’s to keep their hold on the ceramic secure.

“Drink up,” he encouraged, guiding it to his lips. Scott needed no encouragement, and even suffered the assistance in silence as he sipped at the drink, checking the temperature as he always did, before taking larger gulps.

It didn’t last long, and soon Virgil was extracting the empty mug from tired fingers. “Sleep it off,” he encouraged, helping Scott to lie back down with no resistance from his big brother.

“’m still fine,” Scott yawned. Virgil shook his head in fond amusement as the lure of sleep was too much for his stubborn brother, and readjusted the covers as Scott’s eyes slid closed.

“We both know you won’t be down for long,” he murmured quietly, slipping off of the bed and glancing down at his sick brother. It really was just a particularly stubborn cold, if harsh enough to warrant being grounded, and the chances were he’d be pretty much fine in another twenty-four hours, but even a day of rest was too much to simply _ask_ of Scott.

Unless, of course, he received the right encouragement to sleep. The best thing about hot chocolate was that it never failed to made Scott drowsy. Combined with his body’s efforts in fighting off the cold, he’d be out of it for hours yet.

Virgil paused at the doorway, glancing back at the unmoving form of Scott with a soft smile on his face. “Sleep well, big brother,” he murmured, letting the door close silently behind him.


End file.
